


Sweet and Heavy

by loresflora



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bisexual Simon Snow, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Roommates, Smut, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Vampires, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loresflora/pseuds/loresflora
Summary: When Simon Snow wanted to fuck, Baz couldn’t think. Having vampire senses is hell when your roommate can’t get his fix.“IGN 10/10” -FantasyChild9😂
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 36
Kudos: 282





	1. I’m a Pitch, for Fucks Sake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun little short about vampire powers being terrible. It’ll be split into a few chapters with alternating 3rd person POV. Not sure where this is going yet, feel free to drop a suggestion of whether they should fuck or not... 👀  
__________

* * *

  
Baz could tell when Snow was craving it.

He had learned over the years of living with “The Chosen One” how to read his magic. The warm energy that ebbed off of him in waves were patterns that could be understood, almost to a level of genuine communication. Like a heartbeat. When things were bad, his magic was stickier, moisture in a sauna clinging to your skin.

Another sign was how Snow _moved_. The more he wanted it, the more restless he became. Studying on his bed, he would change positions time and time again, never seeming truly comfortable. He would curl his hands into his copper hair, press his fingers to the corner of his mouth, tap beats against the paper with his pen...

The most telling was his smell. 

Most of all, Baz knew when Simon wanted a good fuck because of that— that godforsaken _scent, _rich and woodsy, a warm flavour flowing off him like he was a creature in heat. Baz could smell him, and Crowley if it wasn’t hard to ignore. 

Of course, it was the vampiric gene that made him so sensitive to it. Of all the times Baz had cursed at his own fate, he was most desperate during times like these. 

Baz eventually became quite used to Snow’s steady excess of magic, and had learned to push it out of mind. He could easily ignore the fidgeting— Baz had gotten good at tuning out all the little ways his roommate annoyed him. But that smell permeated the air, his sheets, his _throat_, so that everything just smelled like_ Simon, Simon, Simon_... there wasn’t room for anything else.

When Simon Snow wanted to fuck, Baz couldn’t think.

And this time... this time it was just _so_ sticky sweet.

While it was agonizing to say, he wished that Wellbelove would put out already. Whether it was a handjob in the bathroom or a quickie in the library, Snow needed to get off. And Agatha needed to handle it herself, because when the tension subsided and it was clear that Simon had jacked off in their room, Baz couldn’t sleep for days. Because _that_ scent, it was somehow even worse... it was a drug in his stupid lizard brain, and he just couldn’t handle it. He had even slept in the catacombs one or twice just to get away.

Because his worst fear, during these times, was that he’d lose control. 

He’d grab Snow by the wrists, kiss him back until he was pinned against the wall (the one between his dresser and the door). Baz would press a leg in between Simon’s, pull his hips forward, breathe in his ear... brush his nose into the side of Simon’s neck. Inhale against his throat. Drink in that sweet, heavy scent that left him absolutely reeling. 

During the worst of it, Baz slept in the catacombs because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself otherwise. 

And he was definitely considering staying out there tonight. 

The signs had gotten worse over the past couple days, and Baz knew it would only escalate from here. Snow and Wellbelove had been noticeably distant for the better part of the week, or at least Baz thought so, from what he’d seen at meals and in classes. The reason? He didn’t ask, didn’t care, and certainly didn’t expect Snow to tell him about it. All Baz knew was that sooner rather than later, he would need to get the fuck out of there, because Simon didn’t have his fix. 

Baz left dinner early. He didn’t dare tell his friends what was happening, and they could sense enough discomfort not to pry. Walking briskly back to Mummers house, climbing up the tower stairs, he closed himself away into their bathroom. Leaning heavily onto the sink, he watched the faucet drip. 

He looked up to his reflection in the mirror and sighed, letting his hair fall into his face. He needed a shower. Slight bags had formed under his eyes, which would only worsen after sleeping away.

_I’m a _Pitch_ for fucks sake, I shouldn’t have to flee my own room. What a shite hand. _

Dinner went on for another 40 minutes, and knowing Snow, he would be there stuffing his mouth as long as they’d let him stay. Baz would take a quick hot shower, grab some thick clothes, curse himself, and head down to the catacombs. 

“Better safe than sorry,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes. Baz was already exhausted just thinking about sleeping down there. While he could easily make it more comfortable for himself with simple spells, it didn’t trick his body quite enough from feeling utterly drained the next morning.

But it had to be done. It was the only way he could get peace when Snow’s lust got too heavy to handle. 

It was just as Baz started to undress from his uniform that he heard the footsteps. He barely had time to register the quick succession of thumps before he heard the heavy _thud_ of the bedroom door hitting the wall, so hard that even from the privacy of the bathroom he knew it would leave a mark. 

Baz would have said something, a snide remark about a “bull in a china shop” or the like, but the wave that hit him was far too strong. 

It was too much all at once. The Chosen One’s magic might as well have been a solid force the way it hit Baz in the chest like a brick, knocking the wind right out of him. The energy wasn’t warm anymore, it was hot— not like when Snow was about to go off, no, this was another thing altogether. He’d never felt this one before. And when Baz smelled him, he realized that _this_ was what Simon’s magic felt like when he was desperate to come. 

The scent was so strong. It was like Baz was pressed flush against the other’s chest, forced to drink in every drop. He slumped back heavily against the sink, barely catching himself, and suddenly became aware that he had been holding his breath. But he _couldn’t_ breathe. If he did, Simon’s smell would be inside of him, and Baz wasn’t sure what would happen if he was entirely submerged.

Still in his clothes, Baz considered barging out from the bathroom, spitting some vile line that would let him get out the door and _away from there _before Simon got a hand on his own cock, but somehow he couldn’t move. Baz stood there frozen in time, back against the porcelain sink. And listened.

Simon was shuffling around out in the bedroom, swearing under his breath. A heavy_ “fuck” _here and there had Baz tensing with each expletive, feeling heat rush to his face. He hadn’t heard Snow sound quite like this before. Frustrated, yes; murderous? Definitely. But this, the need practically dripping off Simon’s tongue... In all the fantasies, he’d never sounded _this_ embarrassingly desperate.

Then it got worse. 

His vampire ears clearly heard the third spring on the right side of Simon’s mattress creak. He heard the sound of adjusting pillows: first the flat one that Simon had kept for years with the old pillowcase, then the standard one of Watford housing. His breath wavered across his sheets, and his fingers ran against the bare skin of his legs.

Baz could hear it all. And fuck, he couldn’t escape from it. If he heard what this sounded like, he’d never unhear it, never go a day without replaying it in his head. Simon’s voice he palmed his own cock through his boxers. Because that’s what he was doing now, Baz knew. He could hear every soft whisper.

Baz was hard in his trousers. He snapped out of his trance for a moment (Simon had a thrall if his own kind), and swore under his breath. He shifted to sit, defeated, against the tiled wall. All he could do was wait, still and quiet, and try not to lose his mind.

It hurt. He hadn’t fed that day, or the night before. He was just about to feed as a distraction before Snow had walked in and laid into himself, exactly what he’d been avoiding. Baz’s cock was hard, pressing against the plaid of his uniform trousers, but the lack of blood currently in his veins turned the feeling of arousal into a combination of heat and aching pain.

Another wave of warm excess magic flowed through the closed door. He heard Simon shift onto his side, kick off his sweats all the way, and pull at the elastic of his pants.

Baz stifled a groan with his hand—

“Shit.”

— and cut himself. Pulling his palm away from his mouth, Baz saw a trickle of blood drip from his index finger. He hadn’t realized his fangs had dropped. 

_Fuck, I can’t do this, Snow. Go find your girlfriend, _please_ Simon—_

And then, just then, Simon Snow let out the most sinful moan Baz had ever had the pleasure of hearing in his undead life.

Baz’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He clasped both hands to his mouth, nicking his fingertips with his fangs, and his head hit the tile behind him. _Fuck it._ He bit down hard into the palm of his left hand, long canines piercing through the skin. Anything to distract from the smell and the sound and the aura of _need _that was pulling him in.  
  


Baz wanted it.

To command Simon how to play with himself, tell him he was a good boy when he listened, and see the face he made when he would come hard. Spilling out into his own hand, eyes fluttering, maybe? Did Snow come with his eyes wide open or closed tightly shut? Did he bite down on his lip, or would his mouth be open in a long _moan_ as he tipped over the edge?

He wanted to know. _Crowley_, he wanted to know.

All he had to do was walk through the door.

_This is bad. _

_This is very bad._

* * *


	2. Of All People?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like comment subscribe ✌️ I realize I haven’t uploaded anything in 5 years ..?? I guess I was inspired
> 
> Also, I have Not had the chance to read Wayward Son yet! Looking forward to more canon kisses ❤️  
__________

* * *

  
Simon was right pissed off. 

He had his hands deep in his pockets, head low as he stormed off from the dining hall, through doors and out into the courtyard. With every step he took, the layer of snow peppering the field melted and steamed around the footprint. Simon expected the grass underneath to be seared a bit black as well, but he didn’t stop to check. He just wanted to get away.

_Baz? Of all people? God, Agatha, what the hell happened? _

They’d been sitting together (he, Agatha, and Penny) since a bit before dinner; Simon always wanted to come early for when the kitchen opened. Talking casually about classes, it was as if he and Agatha hadn’t been avoiding each other for the past week. But even as Simon took note of the normalcy, it just brought him back to what had caused this tension in the first place. Sunday afternoon.

Over the days prior to Sunday she’d been distant, but Simon had chalked it up to stress. Agatha seemed distracted during classes, which was out of character for her, and so Simon thought it best to give her some space. He missed her touch, though. He thought they’d spend time together (in more ways than one) after they’d settled back into school, but Agatha had only secluded herself further. When you hadn’t seen your girlfriend all summer after a rough goodbye (Baz’ fault), you’d think it would be nice to get things back to the way they were. Agatha seemed to want anything but.

Simon remembered Sunday afternoon, then, after a round of studying with Penny. He and Agatha always spent time away together, afterwards. She had led him away from the library and out into the lawn, a powder of snow just beginning to settle. Simon had smiled weakly, brushing off how she refused to hold his hand. He went to gently pull her into his jacket (a romantic touch, he felt), when Agatha had tucked hair behind her ear, set her jaw, and said with steely eyes:

_“I don’t know if we should be together anymore.”_

A cold silence for a minute. 

Following were words along the lines of,

_“It’s not that I don’t care about you..._ _ I’m just thinking about someone else. It’s not fair to you._ _”_

The verse finished with a crushing:

_“It’s not you, Simon. It’s me.”_

At this point, Simon felt colder than he ever had before. Caught off guard and confused, his magic seemed to have ached and ebbed away from his core to bury itself deep into the frosted ground. The warmth was gone. His heart broken. 

Simon hadn’t remembered what he’d said to her after that. Hell, all he could picture was Agatha’s eyes, as solid and unwavering as her voice had been as she’d told him it was over. This wasn’t communication, it was a resignation letter. A pink slip, a signed and dated form, delivered with as much emotion as dropping off the newspaper. 

Penny didn’t think this split would last.

While she never did like the two being together, she respected the fact that it had been a constant forever now. Off and on, Simon and Agatha were the one thing that stayed the same during their chaotic years at Watford. It wasn’t about to end now. But this time, it felt different to Simon... it was over. He felt it in his _bones_ that it was over, but that didn’t stop his heart from wishing that it would only be a week or so before Agatha changed her mind. 

While there wasn’t a sign that Agatha was going back on her word, they did still spend time together. Studying and talking, meals and classes: things weren’t all that different from before. Penny did most of the talking anyways, so he and Agatha’s absence of direct communication wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could have been. 

Simon still smiled at her. He still laughed and touched her shoulder, though he pulled back quickly. He wanted to smooth her hair, like he always did, running his fingers through her perfect soft locks... Simon wanted to kiss her, touch her in the ways he had before. Maybe if he pretended everything was okay, she would forget whatever had changed things, and take him back. 

When you break up, usually it’s because someone’s done something wrong. 

According to Agatha, he hadn’t done _anything_ wrong. So why was this happening? Why wasn’t he good enough? 

The answer came to light during dinner, but not in the way Simon had expected. 

He was halfway deep into a Shepard’s pie while Penny was savoring a plate of bolognese; Agatha hadn’t touched hers. While the conversation had drifted from this to that, she seemed out of touch altogether. Her hair wasn’t combed right, or her posture upright, perfect demeanor seemingly scattered. Simon thought at first she was zoning out like she had been so often this semester, but when he followed her gaze across the room, it came to a definite source.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Simon looked back to her. She hadn’t seemed to notice. It could be nothing, a coincidence, but still Simon began to sweat. He waited. Agatha’s gaze did not falter.

_Had she looked at Baz this way before?_

Simon and Penny continued to talk around mouthfuls of food about the strength of cleaning spells, but Simon was no longer truly engaged. He couldn’t stop turning a horrid thought over and over in his mind. 

It was when Baz left the hall that Simon knew. As Pitch spelled the plate and said a short goodbye to his friends, Agatha watched. Her eyes followed him up and down the way, only breaking off as he finally walked out the doors and out of sight. 

Simon swallowed. He knotted his fingers into his reddish hair and tugged hard.

_It has to be._

He asked the horrid thought. 

“Is it Baz?” 

Agatha startled suddenly, eyes blown wide as she looked to him. She obviously had been so caught up in _him_ that she didn’t realize Simon had noticed; that the food on her plate had gone cold; that Penny had stopped talking and was looking between the two of them. 

While the simple question was in response to what she had said long ago, of course the conversation was burned into both their minds. _I’m just thinking about someone else. _Agatha averted her gaze, staring for a moment back to the spot Baz had left view, and then towards her plate. She seemed to take a moment to consider.

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Her voice was low not because she was ashamed, but because she knew that saying anything more would be implicating herself further. She didn’t feel wrong in falling for her boyfriends lifetime rival, only deflated that her fling had been compromised. 

“What’s going on?!” Penny finally blurted out, tired of trying to read the complexity. She wasn’t upset per day, just terribly, uncommonly confused, her brows knitted above the rims of her glasses. She stabbed her food. “Somebody tell me what’s happening, or I’ll spell it straight out if you both.”

Penny didn’t have the chance to. Simon was on his feet, his chair having _screeched_ against the stone floors in haste. He was out of the hall within seconds, head bowed low and hands in fists, magic ebbing off him in weighted swells. 

Was he angry? At Agatha, or at Baz? He didn’t know, and for that, he wanted to cry. 

Now Simon was out in the snowy courtyard, walking as fast as he could short of breaking into a run. He needed to _do_ something— he needed to lay off some steam, but if he went into the forest now to hack with his sword or pull out his wand, Simon knew he would light the whole forest on fire. Purposeful or not.

_Baz. _

He was in the catacombs under the chapel, for sure; Pitch needed a dinner of his own kind. And while any other day Simon would have loved to follow Baz down and confront him for what he was, today... no. Simon wanted to be as far away from Baz as possible. And right now, with the cold whipping around him and snowflakes hissing on contact with his heated magic, he autopiloted to Mummers.

He slammed the door open to his room, knowing that it would leave a mark in the wall.

Simon was going to fuck into his fist until Agatha and Baz were wiped from his fucking brain.

* * *


	3. No Thrall Required

* * *

  
Baz was considering breaking through the far wall and busting out of their room altogether. He hadn’t tried it before, breaking through a brick wall, but his supernatural strength hadn’t failed him yet.

No, there must be magical barriers of _some_ kind to keep Mummers from crumbling. Talismans. Charms. How else would the building have remained so solidly sound for hundreds of years?

He might risk it anyways, if he could get his head on straight. Because Baz’ head was swimming, senses drowning in the deep end of the pool that was only Simon. He could practically feel the Chosen One’s harsh breathing against his own cheek. 

Breaking through the wall was stupid, obviously. But Baz was fully, completely, devastatingly out of options. He’d thought of everything, but it was too late for half, and the other half were all impossible. Mind altering spells were illegal. Pretending to be a burglar would be frankly idiotic. Teleportation was a skill for only the most elite mages, as well as certain sub-species of pixies.

Succumbing to his own fate in their en-suite bathroom, Baz sat against the tile wall opposite the door. His hands covered his eyes, then his mouth, fangs still fully and uncomfortably exposed. All he could _breathe_ was Simon. He couldn’t escape it.

The real question was whether to take care of himself or not.

* * *

Simon was trying to coax his frustration down with a release, but nothing was really working. Thinking of Agatha was painful. Memories of her genuinely happy with him, intimate with him- it was wrong now. She wasn’t for him anymore. 

So Simon had very little to work with... the heat of anger only got him so far. Sure, he was hard in his hand, briefs around his ankles, gripping the sheets- but it wasn’t enough. Agatha wasn’t an option. Porn sites weren’t an option. They didn’t have internet anyways, and Baz of course refused to tell him the loophole to get around it--

Baz.

Simon set his jaw, and turned over to view Baz’ bed across the room. Clean. He hadn’t come back yet, then. Good. If Baz had been in the room, Simon didn’t know _what_ he’d have done after storming through the door. Probably fought. Anathema definitely would’ve had its work cut out.

What did Agatha even want _him_ for? 

Charming. Smart. God, Simon was sick of that face, that stupid smirk after he’d said something cutting. Sometimes Baz would stare him down when he’d throw an insult. Sometimes he’d look away, not even owing Simon a glance, like he was nothing. Baz was always right and fuck did he know it. He took every opportunity to let Simon know, yes, he was better. What a prick. What a...

Baz’ face was in his head. Simon couldn’t get rid of it. With his hand on his cock, he couldn’t stop thinking about _him_, even while he was trying to get off. Even when Simon was _livid_ with him, Baz was in his head inside and out. It wasn’t fair. 

Thinking about Baz, and Agatha... it filled him up with anger so hot that— that maybe...

Well, if anger had gotten him this far, maybe it could push him all the way.

Simon rubbed the wet tip of his dick with his thumb. 

How would Baz kiss, anyway? Simon had never seen him with anyone. Was it hard, like when they’d fight? Or did Baz save being soft just for being close with someone? Is that how he’d be with Agatha? Simon couldn’t imagine Baz being soft. But wouldn’t it be nice. Just once, if Baz could talk slow and gentle. To him. Just maybe.

_Shit_. 

Simon set a pace stroking himself, eyes closed and face pressed into his pillow. His cheeks fully flushed, the inside of his thighs beginning to slick.

Baz would fuck rough.

Simon had felt only hints of Baz’ strength before, and knew those cool hands could press someone deep into the sheets with ease. Hold them down and ride into them like the world was ending tomorrow.

Simon hated to believe Baz was good at something, and although he had no evidence, he was convinced the vampire could rock anyone’s world, to be blunt. Who wouldn’t be charmed by his smile, his crimped suits, silk voice, his eyes. Jesus, his eyes. Steady and focused.

God, that gaze on you during sex... impossible. You’d give in, no thrall required.

Simon’s hand on himself picked up the pace, his toes curling into the sheets; he let out a moan.

Would Baz’ cock fuck fast or deep? Would he look you in the eye when he did it?

“Fuck, _Baz_...”

* * *

That was _his_ name. 

Baz could barely register it, frozen, breath caught. If Simon hadn’t breathed his name again, he wouldn’t have believed it. 

This time, Simon’s voice was muffled. 

“_Jesus Christ, Baz..._”

The vampire’s heart jumped violently into his throat. What should have normally been unheard was loud and clear in his ears. From where he sat against the wall, Baz looked up to the door. He could resist anymore. If fate was real, it was currently screaming in his face. He carefully stood and walked towards the door where his jacket had been hooked, slipped out his wand from the pocket, and took a deep, shivering breath.

“The eyes are the window,“Baz whispered, his voice unsteady, almost to the point that the spell wouldn’t cast. The solid wood of the door faded to a glossy sheen he could see through, only from his side. 

_Oh, sweet tomes of Merlin and Morgana_.

* * *

Simon had stood up, crossed the room, and grabbed the headboard of Baz’ four poster bed. The cool mahogany carvings felt good under his fingers. Maybe he’d grip onto that as Baz fucked him from behind. 

Maybe Simon’s brain was just jellied up, but he’d replaced any thought of Agatha with images of himself now... his head was sideways. Yeah, that was it. His head was just too warm to think straight, so it didn’t count. What if he did want to have sex with Baz, anyways? If Agatha wanted it, it would only be fair for Simon to get the same thing. It only made sense. At least to his heat-grogged brain, it definitely did. He had first dibs, anyways— Baz had been his roommate for years— there's no way he’d let Agatha take the vamp when Simon had the burden of living with him. He’d earned it way more than she had. 

On second thought, maybe it could be the other way around for a change. Have Baz hold himself steady using the headboard while Simon’s cock slid deep in him. Would that be okay? Would Baz let him do that? He was a proud Grimm-Pitch, that’s for sure, but maybe Baz would give in if Simon did his part well enough.

Simon stopped his movements, lightly squeezing the base of his length. His other hand moved from the headboard down to run his fingers along the comforter, neat and straightened, almost as if it had been spelled his bed clean. Simon felt a throb of frustration radiate through him again. _Why does he have to be so perfect? _

Wrinkling his nose, Simon grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it free from where it was tucked; he flicked the cover up, messing up the precise folds. It was immature, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to piss Baz off at this point, bring him along so Simon wasn’t the only one with a shit attitude. Seeing Baz’ facade break for even a second always made him feel better. Damn, that smug face was in his head again. Simon slicked his hand up his prick, gently thumbing the tip. 

_I_ _shouldn’t..._

He did.

Simon leaned over the bed, supporting himself on the mattress. He smoothed his palm from his balls up to the base of his cock, moaning as he grabbed the hilt. A drool of cum dripped onto the crisp white sheets of Baz’ bed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what’s up I have had this sitting in my notes forever ... probably one more chapter ;) also thank you sm for kudos and comments ???!!!! I will try to reply from now on but I do appreciate your appreciation 😭❤️


	4. £2,199.99

* * *

Baz had cast a sound cancellation spell so thick he could barely hear his own voice. He was just about ready to cast another out of paranoia, gambling with the possible side effect of going deaf for a few hours. Because if Simon heard Baz jacking off in their en suite bathroom just a few strides away, the boy wonder would most likely crumble into a thousand little pieces. 

But from his view, Baz could file away every dirty action into his brain forever. He could breathe heavy and watch. Simon would never know that he wasn’t alone when he let his hips drop flush to Baz’ mattress and rut his own slick into the fabric. Wonder boy’s curls bounced over his forehead, His eyes cast down and clouded with need, the muscles in his shoulders flexed as he held himself up.

Did Snow... want him? That was one explanation. The other was he just wanted to fuck with Baz’ stuff. It could be both. But he didn’t have the spare brain cells to dwell on the reason, because he was _so_ hard and _so_ blessed and _so_ cursed to have this once in an (undead) lifetime opportunity.

Baz had undone his shirt to the bottom, ignoring the last button as it always got stuck and he didn’t have the patience right now. He decided to forgo folding his trousers, tossing them on the floor, anything to get his hands on his own warm cock and lean back against the cool tile of the wall. Baz watched, in a mix of awe and lust, as Simon Snow rolled his hips over and over again into silk sheets fitted over custom memory foam. Miracle Boy was fucking a £2,199.99 mattress. And now that his sweat and slick was soaked into it, Baz would have to buy a new one. No way was he getting any sleep with that scent enveloping him. Although, he might keep the sheets vacuum sealed in his bottom dresser drawer, to be buried with him via his last will and testament; he’d have to update it.

“_Baz... fuck-_” 

And with that, Baz felt a hot, hot throb in his core that made his dick twitch and his breath catch, not once, but twice. He let himself moan aloud, his fangs nicking his bottom lip. Every time Simon said _his_ name a wave of dense magic would shimmer through the spelled door and send a feeling of need through Baz from fingertip to toe, like a soft orgasm. That’s all he could think of it as. Every time Snow said “_Baz”_ like he was about to cum, the vamp was pushed closer towards blissful release.

“_Fuck. Ah_, _mmm_-“ 

Baz was blushing with all the blood he had left in his system. He leaned forward and braced himself against the spelled wood, one hand on the door and the other on himself. His palms were slick with no trouble as he pumped his dick in time. 

Snow let out the worst moan yet as he collapsed head first onto Baz’ bed, face in the duvet and fists buried into the blanket above his head as he continued to rut. He was close. Baz didn’t need vampiric senses to tell him that. Simon was practically rubbing himself raw, and with the relatively consistent _ah ah ah_s there was a definite chance Snow was losing his mind.

“_Baaaaz_...”

“Simon...” barely a whisper. Even with three spells perfectly layered and laced, the paranoia of being heard was still with him. But after said subject had, of course, no reaction to the whisper, Baz took a deeper breath. 

“Snow, I want to fuck you...”

“_Mm, mm-_“

“I want to kiss you,”

“_Baz_\- _fuuuck_....“

“And hold you down...” 

Baz took the liberty of moaning long and loud as he squeezed the base of his cock. The head had swelled a soft pink. He opened his eyes once more, saw Simon rub himself now practically whining in desperation, and couldn’t help it. 

“Do you want it?”

Moans muffled through the door. Simon was standing up again, slicking his hand up and down with new conviction. He was going to cum.

“Tell me you want it.” 

“_Yeah_..._ah_...”

Baz smiled open mouth for no one to see. He was going to cum at the same time as Simon Snow, freckled wonder, fucking his sheets— 

“_Baz_...”

— Sweat and heat and ___Great Flamel he was going to cum into his hand watching Simon Snow’s hair fall into his eyes— ___

* * *

Simon was too out of it to be embarrassed. He was so so close, cheeks and chest flushed, imagining himself with _him_ in all sorts of ways. He’d never been this far gone before; It felt like he’d crossed into a plane where the air was an aphrodisiac and every touch against his skin was electric. Baz was fucking him deep, and like a good boy, Simon was bent over the bed with his hand on his cock and, being brave, slipped a slick finger into himself. 

That was it. His eyes flew open, pleasure not from the sensation itself, but from the idea that it was Baz’ hands on him and Simon could almost _feel_ like he was here— 

Simon looked up in a haze, cumming harder than he ever had in his life, unable to control his voice or the way his hips wouldn’t stop as he rode it out, slick on his hands and the sheets...

* * *

Basilton Grimm-Pitch thought, for a moment, that their eyes locked, deep grey and bright blue, that Simon was seeing him, disheveled and hot, for all he was. That was impossible; he’d never botched a spell. Whether it was chance or fate, Baz’ vision spun as cum gushed through his fingers holding his cock. He let his head fall, exhaling a sweet sigh and heavy moan as he eased himself down. 

By the time Baz had caught his breath, he could see that Simon had stilled too. The magic had subdued to a low, quickly fading hum. Fuck, he wished he could have seen Snow finally get it, the look in his eyes, right at the apex. _Maybe next time_, Baz thought, because he was still riding very high. 

It could have been that high, or exacerbated cockiness from the secret he now held... but his desire to fuck with Simon was amplified tenfold. Baz smiled and grabbed his wand with his clean hand, a simple gesture annulling the spells he’d cast.

* * *

“Oh, god...”

Coming down, Simon realized he’d _really_ botched it this time. Cum stained Baz’ comforter. The sheets were rumpled beyond repair. Although he couldn’t sense it too much, he knew that when he was horny like this, it left some sort of magic residue. Penelope had told him as much, and so he tried to air out the room as much as possible after.

He walked over to the Juliette windows, pushing them open and breathing a sigh as the cool air brought relief to his hot cheeks. Hopefully, he could get the bedspread out of here and to the wash before Baz got back (because, unlike some, he was not one to clean with magic. He’d learned the hard way.)

Although this was... certainly an enlightening moment, he wasn’t angry anymore. More confused and exhausted. Maybe he could figure this out in front of the washers.

Then, the shower turned on, and Simon’s heart dropped off a twenty story building. And in classic chaotic fashion, he gathered the contents of Baz’ bed in his arms, and threw them unceremoniously out the window. Without room for a thought, he whipped open the bedroom door and ran down the stairs, hoping against hope that Baz had not heard every single thing he’d moaned.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) let me know what kind of fic you want me to write next ;)


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